Updated: Aug. 1, 2016
Originally Published: May 4, 2016
I’ve heard it all: “You must be so happy! You have a wonderful partner, a smart and beautiful child, and a job that you adore. You are so fortunate!” And yes, I am fortunate and blessed. But don’t be fooled; I’m not the confident, successful woman you think I am. The brave persona my writing may project is just that—a facade. A smile in a photo doesn’t equate to happiness.
My smile doesn’t indicate that I’m okay. Beneath that cheerful exterior, there lies a battle with depression. There’s a pervasive sadness that seeps into my bones, a dull ache that lingers like an unwanted guest. My eyes, though made up nicely, are often filled with tears that just won’t stop.
You wouldn’t know, would you? If you saw me in person, you’d probably think, “She looks fine!” And yes, I eat well, work out, and manage a nine-to-five. I might even seem put-together. But just because I don’t resemble a scene from a black-and-white drama where someone is sobbing on the floor doesn’t mean I’m thriving. My functionality doesn’t mean I’m well.
Inside, I often feel trapped and suffocated; I experience emptiness and numbness. I’m as full of feelings as I am devoid of them. While you see a driven, ambitious woman—an engaged mother who plays with her child at the park—I’m also a master of disguise. What you don’t see is that my work ethic is a smokescreen. I bury myself in my tasks to escape my thoughts, to dodge my reality. When I’m busy, I don’t have to confront the inner voices of self-doubt and despair.
What’s more, my smile is a mask I wear for everyone else’s comfort—and my own. No one wants to be around a Debbie Downer, right? So, I smile while I dig in the dirt, even when my thoughts wander to dark places. I laugh on the swings, all the while holding back tears that threaten to spill. I engage in games of hide-and-seek, wishing at times I could just vanish.
And here’s the kicker: Emily Johnson, the writer, is just a persona. The real me is fragile and anxious. I’m scared, uncomfortable, and self-conscious. But that’s the tricky thing about depression—it’s invisible. It doesn’t always present as the sad girl in the corner or the quiet guy at a party. Just because someone is managing life doesn’t mean they’re not struggling internally. Depression can wear many faces and can be found in the most unexpected places.
May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and organizations like Mental Health America (MHA) are urging people to share their experiences with mental illness. You can join the conversation by tagging your social media posts with #mentalillnessfeelslike.
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In summary, while I may project strength and joy, there’s often a deeper struggle that remains unseen. Mental health is complex and multifaceted, impacting individuals regardless of how they appear on the outside.